Gratitude * Sunday
Sunday’s heartfelt tradition.
A time to slow down, to reflect, to be grateful.
A list of gratitudes, our gratefulness feeds one another.
Quoted from Taryn Wilson
Joining the Gratitude Sunday Tradition at Wooly Moss Roots.
(This week’s Gratitude Sunday at Wooly Moss Roots is not available as I go to press at 4:15 Pacific Standard Time. Sending energy that all is well there in gratitude for her providing this venue to share our thankfulness. I’m providing the link anyway.)
Air pressure changes,
the smell of the rain precedes
its fleeting presence.
Twice in the last two months I have traveled out of state, twice more than in the last twelve years. Last time I left Oregon was to attend my maternal grandmother’s funeral in Idaho in 2001. As you’ve read before in my posts, I’m not the best traveler, but I welcomed the brief opportunity to connect with family and friends. Both events were weddings: my niece’s wedding in July, and her brother’s wedding reception Saturday. And happy events they were as my family just keeps on growing.
Gracing my table today are two vases packed full of the palest creamy peach roses, the High Arena Creamy Peach Rose, replacing the roses and dill from my mother’s memorial last week. These beauties come from my nephew’s American wedding reception. They were married in Belgium where his wife is a native. The two of them are going through the trials of getting a Green Card for her, and her American citizenship. Their romance is the stuff of a future post.
The memento from my mother’s memorial is a white and gold tassel beribboned angel decked with pearls and a tiny gold rose that had been wrapped around the vase of roses that decorated each table last week. The angel now lies on top of the burgundy velvet sleeve of mom’s bronze urn which covers the little oak casket her ashes were originally placed in next to my writing space. I’m grateful to have it and many more of her things as my mother’s home was deeded to my youngest brother and all signs of Mom are rapidly disappearing.
Brother couldn’t wait to rip out the tomatoes, cucumbers, and eggplant he grew just for her and she shared with all her family and friends because she couldn’t eat them all up fast enough. He doesn’t like them, never ate them, and now won’t grow them. He is digging out the old thorny well-established yellow Rose of Sharon given to Mom by her older brother. Her little flower beds around the yard that teemed with bright flowers and garlic scapes and scallions and strawberries have been removed and replaced with grass. Soon half the rows of raspberries will be gone as well. He doesn’t have the time to pick them or chase after folks to come get them while they are fresh. He is making his home to provide comfort for him as he prepares for his own retirement. I keep telling myself my mom’s home, the one I grew up in from age of three, the home I’ve always gone back to when I needed it, is now my brother’s home. It’s the only one he’s ever known. He says I’m welcome anytime. When he called me “dear” the other night it reminded my of hearing my uncle speak to my mother, so endearingly.
Mom’s bedroom has been emptied, all surfaces scrubbed, the walls and trim painted fresh shades of blue, the curtains washed and waiting to be re-hung, the hardwood floor waxed and polished, and new wood framed summer screens are in the works for the windows. Her living room has been rearranged and many parts of the house are in disarray as family goes through her possessions and decides what has to be sold.
During my journey to Washington state and back Saturday I noticed long brown strands of catkins and whirligig seeds hanging from the trees alongside the roads. Some trees had red and gold and yellow leaves beginning at their tips. Today the rain blew in from the south, cooling us, refreshing the soil and dampening the dust, and washing out some stale warm air. The rain has blown through now and the air is warming again. The earth knows. It looks like an early autumn this year, not like last where we were dehydrated clear through October. And I have to remind myself: Change is the only constant.
Flower Watch – blooming attractions in my neighborhoods this week – cyclamen; a beautiful tree with pink and yellow blossoms that smelled like jasmine, but the only pictures I can find that look like it are the peanut butter tree, so I have a mystery and a beautiful eyeful and scentful of tree.
Currently Reading – All Your Worth: The Ultimate Lifetime Money Plan (social politics) by Elizabeth Warren and Amelia Warren Tyagi; Fat Chance: Beating the Odds Against Sugar, Processed Food, Obesity, and Disease (nutrition science and politics) by Robert H. Lustig; How to See Yourself as You Really Are (enlightenment) by the Dalai Lama; Perfect Pops: The 50 Best Classic and Cool Treats (cookbook) by Charity Ferreira; Little House in the Big Woods (“fictionalized” autobiography) by Laura Ingalls Wilder (I never read this series as a kid). Yes, concurrently.
Actually, all these titles are on hold as my copy of Let Me Go (thriller novel) by Chelsea Cain has arrived. Let Me Go is the latest in her Heartsick series. Ms Cain, an Oregon author, tells such a great story. She grabs you by the eyeballs and whipsnaps your brain through the story faster than a TV crime drama. I have a good time holding down the couch when her books arrive. Nothing beats a good old-fashioned sociopath to raise the hair on the back of my neck and get me in the mood for Halloween.
This week I have been grateful for:
- Visiting with family. Seems like there is never enough time to talk and catch up. Such busy lives we lead.
- Welcoming my new niece-in-law into the family. She had a lovely wedding gown.
- Tech savvy thirty something niece and nephew-in-law who put together a charming slide show of bride and groom growing up and getting married and can send me my very own copy!
- Remembering to take my camera to this event and playing with my new toy. We’ll see if any turned out in just a little while. So many things to do to clean up from my journey and get ready for the next week’s work.
- Re-connecting with my sister. We are not alienated nor estranged, merely busy women, and it startles me sometimes how much we go through similar trials in our lives.
- Getting to spend a precious few minutes with my uncle, Mom’s youngest brother, whom she practically raised. He’s only nine and a half years older than me and was fourteen years younger than my mom. He lives in Nevada so it’s not so easy to get together. For both of us our next birthdays, our first with Mom gone, will be Big 0, decadial birthdays.
- Thinking ahead a little and being prepared to grocery shop on the way home from brother’s instead of having to come home first and go back out.
- Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home. At least the one I call mine even though I don’t have the deed in my possession yet.
- Coming home to a house that needs cleaning and not caring too much as it’s my dirt to clean. Stewarding is a never ending task.
- Glistening sweet red Albion Oregon strawberries from fields not ten miles from my home, bought at the farmer’s market, scenting my kitchen and living area.
- Feeling well enough to write another Gratitude Sunday.
Hoping you have a lovely week.
Namaste. Peace. Blessings.